Broken Strings || Niall Horan [AU]

14 | playing on broken keys

The pain subsides, however, the second my gaze falls upon the familiar object; sitting there so proud, old and worn but beautiful in every way possible, the sheet that once covered it still resting on the floor where I left it. I hesitantly move forward, stepping over the white material. Slowly, I sit on the piano stool and lay my fingers on the keys; just the feel of them beneath my fingers causes a small smile to grace my lips, a million memories hitting me at once. They're all of my father, his fingers dancing, beautiful heart-warming music ringing out and filling the house with sounds of joy, tiny dust particles floating about in each shaft of sunlight, which would filter in through the window and warm the keys of the instrument. I close my eyes. And then, I begin to play. 

The music comes hesitantly, at first, but then hesitancy turns to eagerness and suddenly I want to press every key, play every note, soak up every sound. I'm not sure if I'm doing it right, but then I listen and I can hear the chords, the tune, and I know that I've remembered. The keys are stiff and broken, but they still work; some notes come slow, but it still sounds decent; it still feels decent. Maybe this piano isn't as broken as I thought it to be. Or maybe it is broken and it doesn't matter, because it still feels right and makes me happy. 

I stop playing. The music comes to a halt and an empty silence falls upon the room. Days ago, I told Niall that you can't play on broken strings. But, by playing on broken keys, I've realised that it doesn't matter how broken something is, because if you love it and enjoy it and make room for it in your heart, it still has the ability to be something really special. 

I take a deep breath, shaking all Niall-related thoughts from my head, and lower my gaze to stare at the dented keys. I can't think about falling for Niall right now; it's all too messy and difficult, especially after what I told him about being too screwed-up to even consider it. In this moment, I want to focus on this piano and nothing else. My fingers begin to move as if by magic and, once again, music floods the room. 

I'm so absorbed in it that I don't hear the door creak, or the soft footsteps behind me. So, naturally, when a voice behind me whispers, right in my ear, "maybe you should join the band," I practically jump out of my skin. 

"Jeez, Niall!" I yelp, the music instantly stopping as I topple off the stool; he's quick to grab me, and I fall clumsily into his arms. As he slowly lifts me to my full height, he looks as me as if there's nobody else in the world. His eyes are burning into mine, and I'm staring at the gold flecks in his blue irises, and then he's saying, "Are you OK?" and my heart is racing, and I can just about manage a nod and an uncertain-sounding, "Uh-huh."

"You sure?" Niall asks, his hand resting on my arm. 

"Yeah," I reply with a gulp. 

"What's wrong?" He asks. 

"Nothing. You surprised me, that's all."

We stare at each other for a while. "You were really good, you know."

I scoff. "Yeah, and pigs can fly, and you're not poor, and my dad wasn't murdered."

Niall chuckles humourlessly. "I wish," he says. "I mean, imagine how cool a flying pig would be." There's a silence. "Play for me?" 

"I just did," I say. 

"No, you didn't. You were playing, and then I came in, and you stopped." Niall looks down at the keys, his fingers tracing each note. He locates one and presses it; the sound rings out. He glances at me. "Please?" 

So, of course, I do. And Niall stands behind me, looking over at my dancing fingers. After a while, he leans forward, resting his chin on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me; I barely even flinch. We melt into each other, fitting perfectly together like two pieces of a broken vase, unable to be restored to how we once were but still fixable, if we really put our minds to it.